
AND 



Gi^ORGE B. BY NSC 









Class __rRs_aiiiL 
Book.__Yii^:^ 

Gopyright N®___i_iij}_ 

CaSRjRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Down Van and Thereabout 







/ 






vM -'^''iti^ 












iv?i^ 






"Along the sun-s7ve(>t, rniiding road 
Tliat leads aicay — dozvii ya)i." 



(Sec page ;8) 



DOWN YAN 

AND 

THEREABOUT 

COLLECTED POEMS 
BY 

GEORGE B. HYNSON 




Illustrations hy 
R. M. Weeks and W. H. Roach 



Philadelphia 

THE BIDDLE PRESS 

1920 



.'Z' 






\^' 



Copyright, ig20 
By George B. Hynson 



JAN 26 1920 

©GI.Af)50688 




CONTENTS 



Page 

Dedication 13 

Without Apology 15 

Prelude 16 

The Fool's Apology 18 

Jeems and His Violin 23 

Alack ! Alas ! A Laddie ! 26 

Apple Blossoms 27 

When the Band Goes By 29 

When My Lady Sleeps 32 

Who Makes the Match ? 33 

Los Angeles 39 

San Francisco 41 

Old Glory 42 

The Fishing Trip 43 

Uncle Tommy's Philosophy 47 

Good-bye, Kings 50 

Bobbie Never Can 52 



Contents 



Page 

The Girl That I Adore 54 

The Meanest Man 56 

The 'Scursion 57 

Doing Your Bit 58 

The Troop-Train 59 

The Bond Brother 61 

The Tenant Farmer 63 

The King's Highway 66 

In Good Old Sussex 71 

Sussex County Apple-jack 76 

"Down Yan" 78 

Beautiful Kent 82 

Our Delaware 84 

Easter 86 

Proof Positive 88 

Christmas Ex'e 91 

postlude 93 




PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 



"Along the Sun-Swept, Winding Road". .Frontispiece 

"They Found Him There as the Light Broke 

In" Page 27 

"Well, What's the Use to Worry?" Page 46 

"And 'Long in Winter Evenin's" Page 70 

"My Candle's" Out; the Fire is Low" Page 90 



TfEDICATlON 

To those whose laugh rings loud and clear, 

Though jokes be dry and dusty ; 
Who ever lend a friendly ear 

To stories old and musty — 
Who pat us on the back and swear 

We're deuced entertaining, 
Though all the wine is drained away 

And but the lees remaining — 
Those who approve a wheezy song 

With laughter strong and mellow, 
Transforming boredom into bliss — 

Because they like a fellow. 




WITHOUT APOLOGY 

A robin sat upon a tree 
And sang his song contentedly. 
Some envied him his vagrant lot ; 
Some liked his song and some did not. 
But many passed the garden wall 
Who never heard his song at all. 

Said one : "His voice is thin and flat." 

Another said : "It's worse than that, 

And everybody must agree 

The bird is singing off the key." 

He thought perhaps a well-aimed stone 

Might in a measure help the tone. 

One critic spoke of pleasant vales 
Athrob with songs of nightingales. 
He much deplored the modern rant 
Of birds that try to sing — and can't ! 
Then walked away still muttering: 
"Some birds were never made to sing." 

The old bird fluttered on the hough 
And just kept singing anyhotv! 



15 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



PRELUDE 

Comrade of a vanished day, 

How our feet have led away, 

On and on with length'ning strides 

From the land where youth abides ! 

Weary now, but joyous then — 

Let's go back and start again — 

Tread the dear, familiar ways, 

Live again the golden days 

When the world was fresh and new, 

And when all our dreams came true ! 

From the highway's endless strife, 
Through the quiet lanes of life ! 
Fancy lifts an idle wing 
When we hear the thrushes sing — 
Or the quail at early morn 
Call across the fields of corn — 
Come ! let's wander hand in hand 
Backward to that boyhood land ! 

There are birds upon the wing. 
There are songs we like to sing — 
Songs that float so crisp and clear — 
But we cannot sing them here ! 
Oh, to wander back again 
Through the fields and down the lane 
Where the sunlit faces wait 
Mid the roses at the gate ! 

16 



Down Yan and Th ereabout 

In the wood beyond the hill 
There's a brook that's laughing- still, 
And the gems it prattles o'er 
Are as lustrous as of yore. 
Oft when summer suns were hot 
How we sought that shady spot, 
Where the grass was lush and wet — 
Come ! the brook is calling yet ! 

Through the meadows cattle roam. 
Tinkling bells that lead to home, 
While the squirrels on the fence 
Chatter forth their impudence — 
Where the daisies greet the sun, 
Smiling blithely, every one ; 
Bluebells nodding on the stem — 
Let's go back and search for them ! 

Dreaming as in days agone 
We will wander on and on — 
Not where throngs the pavement tread, 
Mid the clover blooms instead. 
Where the orchard branches sway — 
Hopes fulfilled of yesterday ! 
Come! Let's journey trouble-free 
Through the haunts of Memory ! 



17 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

THE FOOL'S APOLOGY 

Oh, here's to jingle and to rhyme, 
The throbbing pulse of summer time — 
To vagrant voices in the wood 
That chant our common brotherhood ! 
For prosiness is an abuse 
That in its nature lacks excuse; 
For though our message empty be, 
We yet may phrase it pleasantly. 

Some books that you and I have read 

Leave every solemn truth unsaid; 

And yet we travel on apace 

Till "Finis" stares us in the face — 

As children wander far away 

Where woodland elves make holiday. 

Their toys and books and games forgot — 

Well, we are children, are we not? 

And still our most persistent quest 
Is some good fellow's merry jest; 
We travel many a weary mile 
To capture an elusive smile. 
So let us all devoutly bless 
Him who invented foolishness ! 
Sometimes our brains drop out a link; 
Sometimes we do not wish to think, 



18 



Down Yan a nd Thereabout 

But search for some dear friendly tree 
And 'neath it ponder drowsily 
As one by one we count the sheep 
That leap the fence 'twixt us and sleep ; 
While bumble-bees amid the vines 
Drone on till we forget the lines 
And drop the book — we are not sure 
What fool invented literature ! 

Sometimes the preacher's solemn gown 

But hides the motley of the clown, 

As beggar thoughts may often bear 

The garb that only princes wear, 

A quip, a merry song foretells 

The jester in his cap and bells. 

And yet the jester has his place; 

He smoothes the wrinkles from our face; 

He serves to pass the sober day 

And helps to drive dull care away. 

The minstrel, too, with blithest song 
Yet walks his fellow-men among. 
Still, as he journeys murmuring 
The songs the birds forget to sing. 
This world would be a desert spot 
If song and laughter rippled not ; 
'Twould be the worst of dreary schools 
Without its minstrels and its fools ! 



19 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

When men grow weary of the strife 
That marics the pilgrimag:e of Hfe ; 
When brooms of logic reach in vain 
To sweep the cobwebs from the brain. 
We hum a tune or write a scrawl — 
Because we wish to — that is all. 
And now, perhaps, the reason's clear 
Why this poor bard doth tarry here ; 
To court the smile, to smite the frown. 
He'd be your minstrel, or your clown. 





"They found him there as the light broke in 
W»7/i his check pressed close to his zHolin." 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

JEEMS AND HIS VIOLIN 

I shan't forget to my dyin' day 
How poor old Jeems would sit and play 
The old day out and the new day in 
That lovely tune on his violin. 
That's all he done, just sit and play; 
He'd hold it tight, just this-a-way. 
And slowly he would draw the bow 
And run the notes from do to do. 
There wasn't a night that Jeems would miss, 
And the tune that he used to play was this : 
"Hi ding, hi ding, hi ding a-diddle, 
Ding a-ding, ding a-ding. 
Ding a-ding a-diddle." 

At weddin's Jeems was in demand. 
And the way he stirred your soul was grand. 
The preacher overlooked the sin 
Of playin' hymns on the violin, 
And prayed the Lord, as a sign of grace, 
To look on Jeems as a special case ; 
When folks have talent, so 'tis writ, 
'Tis a monstrous sin for to bury it. 
'Twas the music people hear in dreams 
And it came right straight from the soul of 
Jeems : 
"Hi ding, hi ding, hi ding a-diddle, 
Ding a-ding, ding a-ding, 
Ding a-ding a-diddle." 

23 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



At picnics or the village fair 

Or a country dance, sure Jeems was there ; 

And "What'll you have?" was his reg'lar bluflf. 

*'The same old tune ; that's good enough !" 

And there he'd play the livelong night 

To tickle the foot of an Anchorite. 

And "Play it again!" the boys would roar, 

And the girls would giggle and call for more. 

Then "Forward all \" and "Down through the 

middle!" 
And "Swing to the right," and "Follow the 

fiddle!" 
"Hi ding, hi ding, hi ding a-diddle, 
Ding a-ding, ding a-ding, 
Ding a-ding a-diddle." 

And Deacon Morris forgot his rule 

And let Jeems play in the Sunday school. 

The people came from near and far 

And the school was mighty popular ; 

They'd throw the doors and the windows wide 

And Jeems would play to the birds outside ; 

And the boys and the girls and the birds, it 

seems, 
They all knew the tune that was played by 

Jeems ; 
For up from the seats and down from the trees 
Came the blended notes in the choruses: 
"Hi ding, hi ding, hi ding a-diddle. 
Ding a-ding, ding a-ding, 
Ding a-ding a-diddle." 

24 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

But "flesh is grass," as the preachers cite, 
So the Reaper came for Jeems one night. 
They found him there as the light broke in 
With his cheek pressed close to his violin. 
The neighbors stared as they gathered 'round, 
For faint and sweet there came a sound 
As if a breath had touched the strings. 
Or the softest brush of an angel's wings. 
And we held our breath and stood aside — 
'Twas the same old tune, but glorified ! 
The wind? Ah, well, can mortals know? 
But this was the tune it was playing, though : 
"Hi ding, hi ding, hi ding a-diddle, 

Ding a-ding, ding a-ding. 

Ding a-ding a-diddle." 




25 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

ALACK! ALAS! A LADDIE! 

Who waits within that dormer room, 
No ray of light to pierce the gloom? 
Who parts the curtains in afright 
And peers out far into the night? 
Whose heart is wildly fluttering 
Like some caged bird with broken wing? 
Alack! Alas! A Lassie! 

Hark ! Who comes prowling through the hedge 
With shaking limbs and teeth on edge? 
Who glances at the pane above — 
What is his mission — loot or love? 
Who reaches for his kerchief now, 
Waves it aloft, then mops his brow? 
Alack! Alas! A Laddie! 

He crouches low beside the wall, 
Lifts a contraption, strange and tall, 
And from the pavement's grassy edge 
It reaches to the window-ledge. 
The maiden stirs. Is she aware 
Of this grim menace thrust in air? 

Alack! A Lad! A Ladder! 

A year has passed. "Now, dear," she said, 
"Drop in the store and match this thread. 
Then call up dad, and after that 
Please run down town and get my hat. 
And coming back — it isn't far — 
Bring mother out, she likes your car." 
Alas! Alack! A Lackey! 

26 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



APPLE BLOSSOMS 

And yet I remember that still night in spring- 
time. 
We stood in the path by the old orchard 
bars. 
With the sway of the music and dancing be- 
hind us, 
Out in the silence, and under the stars! 

And yet I remember how fragrant the breezes 
That came from the meadows, all dense with 
perfume, 
While, through the gaunt boughs of the apple- 
trees spreading. 
The moon glinted down through the masses 
of bloom. 

Away from the whirl of the music and danc- 
ing, 
The blare of the lights and the press of the 
throng, 
And up through the path of the sweet-scented 
orchard 
We heard the far notes of the whippoor- 
will's song. 

The balm of the night and the scent of the 

clover, 

The blossoms all fresh with the touch of 

the rain, 

And the old orchard bars that I lifted you over 

Come back from the past in a vision again. 

27 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

And something I whispered — ah, do you re- 
member ? 
You started to speak, but we heard in dis- 
may 
A clamor of voices ; the party had ended ; 
And they swept down upon us and bore you 
away. 



The old orchard blooms in its prodigal beauty. 

The meadows of clover are fragrant again ; 

And I stand by the bars and repeat the words 

over — ■ 

Oh, -what was the answer you had for me 

then ? 




28 



Down Yan and T^hereabout 









WHEN THE BAND GOES BY 

Oh, listen to the music 

When the band goes by! 
A touch of frost upon the air, 

The stars within the sky ! 
The tramp of feet, the blare of horns. 

The music and the light; 
The village guards are on parade, 

The boys are out tonight ! 
All down the street the people stir 

And throw the windows high, 
When they hear the drums a-rolling 

And the band goes by! 

When the band goes by, 

Oh, the glitter and the swing, 

When heads are high and eyes are bright 
And hearts are fluttering. 

Along the street are farmers' rigs 
That scatter left and right. 



29 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

The horses gaily dancing" jigs, 

The drivers holding tight! 
When drums are calling unto horns, 

And horns to drums reply — 
Oh, it's glory hallelujah 

When the band goes by! 

For we all are young together 

When the band goes by ; 
The brooks forget to murmer 

And the winds forget to sigh ! 
The feet of young, the feet of old, 

A-beating out the tune, 
While overhead, observing all, 

The fellow in the moon, 
A smile upon his jolly face, 

A twinkle in his eye 
For the merry lads and lasses 

When the band goes by! 

When the band goes by I 

When the band goes by ! 
The golden day of jubilee 

Is draAving pretty nigh ! 
The children flocking in the street, 

Of every size and hue ; 
And all the babies in the block 

Awake and cooing, too — 
Oh, "Yankee Doodle," "Dixie Land," 

And "Comin' Through the Rye" 
Are just a-dripping music 

When the band goes by! 

30 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

When the band goes by 

And the tramp of marching feet 
Grows fainter, ever fainter, 

Dying softly down the street, 
We sigh and pull the windows down 

And smile and shut the door; 
We are thankful for the respite ; 

We are braver than before. 
And maybe when, beneath the stars. 

We undefeated lie, 
We'll hear the quick'ning music 

When the band goes by! 




81 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

WHEN MY LADY SLEEPS 

Lady, wlien the stars at night 
Through your window twinkle bright, 
'Twixt the darkness and the dawn, 
They salute you, one b)^ one. 

Some in blushing, as they threw 
Ardent messages to you. 
Stained your cheek so soft and fair 
Crimson deep — and left it there ! 

And the arrows, gleaming bright 
From the quiver of the night. 
In your tresses left the hue 
Of the gold they sifted through ! 

A reflection from the skies 
Is the azure of your eyes — 
Heaven swept her broidered hem 
Over earth, and kindled them ! 

There's a star that always glows 
When my lady seeks repose. 
And the softness of its beams 
Is reflected in her dreams. 

Lady, when this star tonight, 
Looking through your window bright, 
Wafts endearments to your ear — 
They arc mine, by proxy, dear! 

32 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



WHO MAKES THE MATCH? 

(To the Editor of the Woman's Page) 

This heart-searching problem, 

I'm led to believe, 
Dates back to the wooing 

Of Grandmother Eve. 
I may be mistaken — 

Perhaps I should say 
From the wooing of Adam 

By Eve — anyway 
We'll take the first pair, 

With our reference pat, 
And no one's acquaintance 

Goes farther than that. 
Yes, let us begin 

With the first man of all — 
As good an example 

As I can recall — 
And, reading his story, 

We see in amaze 
How great is the part 

That heredity plays. 



And though he was tempted, 
And paid for his sin, 

Man's not a free agent 
And never has been ; 

For down through the ages 
That run like the sands. 



33 





Down Yan and Thereabout 

Poor Adam walks blindly, 

While two slender hands 
Are beckoning, guiding 

And luring him on ; 
And that is the way 

Through the ages he's gone. 
So why should we murmur 

Or seek an excuse? 
Since Fate has decreed it — 

Well, then, what's the use? 
Yet, let us proceed 

And discern, if we can. 
Some hint for the comfort 

And guidance of man. 

Well, Adam went courting — 

A rather crude phrase. 
But the best they had then, 

And the best nowadays. 
He had no intention 

Of taking a wife; 
It was stuflfy at home ; 

He was hungry for life. 
It was just an adventure ; 

He had no desire 
To be indiscreet 

Or to trifle with fire. 
You see, he was not yet 

Aware of the fact 



34 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



That trouble may follow 

An indiscreet act. 
And whom should he visit? 

He had little choice ; 
He found but one charmer; 

He heard but one voice. 
Perhaps she was homely. 

Red-headed and cross; 
Still, Adam was never 

Aware of his loss. 
And we might be boasting 

Of beauty and grace 
Had another grandmother 

Been first of the race. 
That's merely a hint. 

For it never is wise 
To frankly discuss 

All our family ties. 

Yet, choosing our ancestors 

Certainly pays. 
For we see the great part 

That heredity plays. 
But whether Eve squinted. 

Was lean or was fat — 
It profits us little 

To go into that, 
Since all have the habit. 

With blemish and scar. 



85 




Down Yan and Thereabop.t 




To contemplate fondly 

Themselves as they are. 
Now, Adam was young 

And he presently found 
He could see but one woman 

When Eve was around. 
She was coy and demure. 

And I venture to say 
She kept every other 

Girl out of the way. 
Propinquity? Yes; 

Just a maid and a man, 
A moon — and you see 

How the trouble began. 

So the courting of Adam 

By Grandmother Eve 
Was the simplest of problems, 

I'm led to believe. 
For the fellow was young, 

And his circle was small — 
Indeed, it was hardly 

A problem at all. 
He couldn't evade her 

An ell or an inch ; 
It was surely dead easy, 

A snap and a cinch. 
She made him confess, 

With his head in a whirl, 

36 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



For him the world over 

Contained but one girl ; 
And unless she consented, 

Becoming his wife, 
He meant to stay single 

The rest of his life. 
A man and a maiden — 

You know very well 
There was only one answer; 

And so Adam fell. 
That night in her cave 

As she took down her hair, 
When for needed repose 

She began to prepare. 
She murmured : "Since really 

Nice fellows are few, 
I reckon that Adam's 

The best I can do. 
I fancy in time 

He'll appear very well 
When I've snubbed him and coaxed him 

And trained him a spell. 
He never could see 

He was playing with Fate ; 
He walked in the trap 

While I dangled the bait." 

So Grandfather Adam, 
Quite youthful and raw, 

37 




Doivn Yan and thereabout 



Just married the very- 
First woman he saw ; 
No safety in numbers — 

For better, for worse, 
He happened around 

And she nabbed him, of course. 
And, all things considered, 

A pretty good catch ; 
And we are the fruit 

Of this first hasty match. 
So wooing, you see, 

Is a matter apart 
From a man's incHnation ; 

'Tis rather an art. 
There's always a woman 

And only one man. 
Just over and over 

Since wooing began. 
If any one doubts 

And will suffer the test, 
Just meet the conditions, 

And she'll do the rest ! 




88 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



LOS ANGELES 

Thou land of sunny splendor, 
With memories so tender, 

My waking thoughts, my dreams, are all of 
thee; 
Thy poppy banners blowing 
Where the olive trees are growing — 

Thou land of many voices calling me ! 

Thy maidens are the fairest. 
Thy vintage is the rarest, 

Thy sons are brave and chivalrous, I know; 
And the bees are humming ever 
In the blossoms by the river 

Where the orchards sweep the valley, row 
on row. 

There are visions so alluring 
Through the fleeting years enduring; 

Mystic smiles and covert glances calling me. 
Still the blood of Castile flowing 
Keeps the olive cheek a-glowing — 

Thou bewitching Mcxic maiden by the sea! 

And the priests and native classes 
So devoutly saying masses 

In the mission church, with pepper trees 
around ; 
And the church-yard by the river 
Where the seiiors sleep forever 

In the bosom of the consecrated ground. 

89 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



'Neath the vines and mosses creeping 
There are silent heroes sleeping; 

Where the brazen northern cannon laid them 
low; 
And they fell in silence gasping, 
And their crucifixes clasping, 

Dying for their blessed Mother, Mexico ! 

Now thy battles all are ended, 
For thy Mexic blood is blended 

With the milder blood, and all again is calm. 
No more the forces rally ; 
All is quiet in the valley, 

And the olive branch is growing by the palm ! 

Los Angeles, iSS/. 









.Qrr^ 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

SAN FRANCISCO 

It's a grim sort of world we inhabit, my friend, 
Disasters abound from beginning to end. 
We're hoarding our treasures and piling up 

pelf, 
Each prostrate, adoring an idol — himself. 
But see, there's a change when the shelterless 

cry; 
A nation responds with an eager reply. 
Forgotten are trifles of creed and of race — 
The heart of the people is in the right place! 

We strive and contend as the years roll away 
But in retrospection how empty are they! 
We boast of possessions of fabulous worth ; 
What trash ! when the very foundations of 

earth 
Are shaken, unstable, like waves of the sea — 
Ah, lords of creation, how helpless are we! 
Behold destitution ! We look in its face — 
And the heart of the people is in the right place! 

And still is our avarice trampled as lust. 
And still are our treasures laid low in the dust. 
And still is our brother the man in his need. 
And yet there's religion unshackled by creed; 
For thanks be to God who hath given us grace, 
The heart of the people is in the right place! 

April IS, 1906. 

41 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

OLD GLORY 

A group of stars on an azure tield ; 
There the bond of the Union stands revealed. 
With bars of rod and bars of white, 
That spurn the earth and seek the Hght — 
'Th a flag that men have died for! 

That star-flecked banner marked the line 
From Biniker Hill to Brandywine; 
I fancy that its bars of red 
Proclaim the blood our grandsires shed, 
For this is the flag they died for! 

It graced the heights of Monterey ; 

It fluttered at :Manila Bay. 

"The flag is there !" Thus flashed the news 

From Pekin and from Vera Cruz; 

And this is tfic flag they died for. 

The world beheld and understood 
Its message flung from Argonne Wood — 
Rejoiced to see its colors shine 
Above the crests that guard the Rhine ! 
And this is the flag they died for. 

Blow c'>n o'er land ! Blow on o'er sea, 
Oh, star-lit banner of the free! 
Though foes abound and tyrants rave. 
Blow on, oh, banner of the brave ! 

And this is the flag we'll die for! 

Novcmbi't II. 191S. 

42 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

THE FISHING TRIP 

(Ned's Story) 

Once I went fishin' along with Lcc 

'Way down to the crick where we mustn't be ; 

And Ma, she says, "If you ever go 

You'll wish you hadn't for sure, I know." 

And Pa, he says, "If you ever dare, 

You'll get one whippin', I declare." 

But the other boys have lots of fun ; 

Their parents never bother none ; 

They just go fishin* most every day — 

I wish our parents was thataway. 

So Lee said : "Let's go fishin', too ; 

We'll run away, that's what we'll do." 

So we bent some pins and found some twine, 

And fixed ourselves a fishin' line ; 

Then we hurried off, and purty quick 

We both were fishin' down the crick. 

And we fished and fished till nearly night ; 

But we lost our bait and never a bite. 

Then, after a while, Lee's line got caught 

On a stump or sumthin' — that's what he 

thought — 
And he gave a pull on the old bent pin. 
And the line snapped ofT, and Lee fell in ! 
Right quick I threw him an old boat oar; 
And then I couldn't see him no more. 



43 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



Then I got scared and hollered some 
And wished that Ma or Pa would come, 
And I crawled way out on a rotten pile, 
And held Lee's coat by the tail awhile ; 
And shouted as loud as I could bawl : 
"Man gettin' drownded! Murder!" an all. 
But I just kep' a-slidin' and slippin' down 
Till I thought for sure I's goin' to drown. 
But I shut my teeth right tight to — so; 
And I said: "I'll drown, but I won't let go!" 
And then, bimcby, I heard some men, 
And I don't know a thing that happened then. 

And then, purty soon, we're home, you see. 
And the doctor there and the family. 
And Pa was a-laughin' and huggin' Lee, 
And Ma was a-cryin' and huggin' me. 
Pa said : "You're a hero !" And I said, "Yes, 
It'll teach Lee a lesson for once, I guess." 
And then I forget what all was said. 
For they marched us both straight off to bed. 
And I heard Pa say as he laughed a bit : 
"Well, that little rascal has got the grit !" 
And Lee says : "S'posin' we both was dead ; 
Let's don't go fishin' tomorrow, Ned." 










.^^^■1 
;■/"'■" ^ 







'Well, zvhat's the use to xvorry 
Over trouble, anyway f" 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

UNCLE TOMMY'S PHILOSOPHY 

My old Uncle Tommy, 

Why he often used to say: 
"Well, what's the use to worry 

Over trouble, anyway?" 
"The older that I get," he says, 

"The more and more I see 
That learnin' not to worry 

Is a wise philosophy. 
It's a good religion, every word, 

And common-sense beside ; 
It sees the gates of Mercy there, 

And throws 'em open wide." 
And so I just repeat the words 

My uncle used to say: 
"Well, what's the use to worry 

Over trouble, anyway f 

Old Uncle Tommy had his share 

Of worriment, I guess; 
He said that grievin' 'bout it 

Was the worst of foolishness. 
He had an car for suffering 

And a mighty hate of wrong ; 
And when he gave his sympathy 

His money went along. 
There was a mortgage on his farm 

For twenty years he'd owed; 
It seemed to thrive and get ahead 

Of every crop he growed. 

47 



Down Yan and H'hereabout 

But when they come to sell the place 

The sheriff heard him say : 
"Well, zvlwt's the use to worry 

Over trouble, anyway f 

He even kept his spirits up 

When Aunt Eliza died ; 
He'd tended to her day and night 

And never left her side. 
And when they tried to comfort him, 

Old Uncle Tommy said: 
"There ain't no use o' grievin', 

For my dear old wife is dead ; 
Them poor old hands o' hers at last 

Have found a place to rest; 
It ain't for me to worry. 

For the Father knoweth best. 
It may be lonesome, but I know 

She couldn't alius stay, 
So what's the use to worry 

Over trouble, anywayf' 

Oh, brave old Uncle Tommy! 

How he seemed to fill the place 
With the music of his shaky voice 

And the sunshine of his face! 
And when he took to bed at last, 

The preacher come to pray; 
He thanked him for his visit, 

Then he sent him on his wav. 



48 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

"I know one thing," he said to us, 

"As sure as sure can be, 
The Bein' who has made me 

Is a-lookin' out for me; 
He's led me on through storm and calm; 

He's leadin' me today. 
So what's the use to ivorry 

Over trouble, anyway?" 

And when they had the funeral 

The people came for miles. 
The meetin'-house was packed with folks 

And crowded in the aisles ; 
And there was silence when at last 

The preacher took his text: 
"Let not your hearts be troubled," 

And he preached a sermon next. 
His voice was low and shook a bit, 

And tears were in his eyes ; 
He said : "Dear Uncle Tommy now 

Is safe in Paradise, 
And with his dear old wife, I know. 

Is happy there today, 
'So what's the use to worry 

Over trouble, anyway?' " ' 



49 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

GOOD-BYE, KINGS 

Good-bye, kings, how we shall miss you. 
You were always such an issue ; 
Though the rabble danced about you, 
They can get along without you. 
They have served you without measure. 
Filled your coffers with their treasure ; 
On their bellies crawled before you, 
Lived and died but to adore you ; 
But you only deigned to smite them — 
That's the way that you requite them. 
So you're going? Get their things. 
Call the dogs off ! Good-bye, kings ! 

Thrones and scepters, crowns and baubles 

Were the source of all our troubles — 

Robes of state and decorations — 

Now you'd trade them all for rations ! 

Heaven's regents — self-appointed — 

Strutting as the Lord's anointed. 

Glare of spot-lights, vestures splendid — 

Let's go home ; the farce is ended ! 

See no more the rabble fawning — 

Only wearied people yawning! 

Going now in such a hurry. 

Well, good-bye, and none will worry ! 

Broken, helpless, hapless things ; 

Pleasant journey ! Good-bye, kings ! 

50 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

Good-bye, kings, but not forever; 
We have other clowns as clever 
Who, in years to follow after, 
Will convulse us all with laughter. 
They will don your splendid vesture, 
Mimic well your gait and gesture. 
Mock and jeer at your removal 
While the rabble roars approval — 
Or, with manners quite forgotten. 
Maybe swear the show is rotten ! 
Worn-out plot and ancient acting; 
Modern folk are so exacting! 
Ere they rise up, throwing things, 
Draw the curtain ! Good-bye, kings ! 

February, 1917. 




Down Yan and Thereabout 



BOBBIE NEVER CAN 

When Bobbie goes a-visiting 

He falls into the creek 
And musses up his linen suit 

That ought to last a week ; 
And then he makes his best excuse. 

The way it always ran : 
"I couldn't help it, mother, dear" — 

But Bobbie never can. 

When Bobbie gets all dressed again 

He climbs upon the shed 
Where there are splinters, nails and things. 

He mustn't, mother said. 
•T didn't hurt myself a bit," 

Thus promptly he began ; 
He couldn't see why folks should fret — 

But Bobbie never can. 

Then Bobbie fell and scratched his leg, 

Then lost his treasured ball. 
And sicked the dog upon the cat — 

That isn't nearly all. 
He cannot see why harmless sport 

Is placed beneath the ban. 
And little boys are made to mind — 

But Bobbie never can. 



52 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



And Bobbie wouldn't go to bed 

When it was time to go ; 
He didn't care what people thought, 

And told his mother so. 
But then at last he snuggled down, 

Poor, weary little man ! 
Some boys can go to bed unkissed — 

Bui Bobbie never can. 




53 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



THE GIRL THAT I ADORE 

The girl that cooked the flapjacks 

Is the girl that I adore — 
With me a-shovin' up my plate, 

And her a-cookin' more, 
And peekin' o'er her shoulder 

With a sly and sassy look. 
As purty as a picter — 

And the way that she can cook! 
And so I mention once again 

As I remarked before : 
The girl that cooked the flapjacks 

Is the girl that I adore. 

'Twas mighty nice and cheerful, 

For the girl dispersed the gloom; 
'Twas the object of her bein' 

Just as mine is to consume. 
I forgot to ask a blessin', 

'Twasn't needed, I contend ; 
'Twas a genuine thanksgivin' 

From beginnin' to the end ! 
In gratitude for flapjacks 

Why, my spirit seemed to soar — 
And the girl that did the cookin' 

Is the girl that I adore. 

That girl so sweet and sassy 
And the great flapjack array 

Divided my aflfections 

In a most distractin' way ; 

And maybe that old sayin', 
It ain't altogether true 

54 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



As how your cake you mustn't eat 

If you would have it, too. 
And here's a bit of common-sense 

Not writ in any book : 
Just eat your cake and have it, too, 

While courtin' of the cook ! 
Just smile and make yourself to home 

And view the landscape o'er — 
And sort o' intimate that she's 

The girl that you adore. 

We had some conversation. 

For she'd peek in through the door 
And sing out: "Mr. Johnsing, 

Won't you have a dozen more?" 
And back I'd send the answer: 

"I can read my title clear 
And, though I'm sort o' sickly, 

Fetch along a dozen, dear." 
Her cheeks would flame like roses 

And I'd set back and roar — 
Oh, the girl that cooked the flapjacks 

Is the girl that I adore. 

Come in and stay for supper. 

For there's flapjacks due tonight; 
When old friends come so seldom 

They're obliged to take a bite-^- 
Yes, Sally, we're a-comin'. 

Needn't call us any more ; 
Here's the girl that cooked the flapjacks ; 

She's the girl that I adore. 



55 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



THE MEANEST MAN 

The meanest man, it seems to me, 
The meanest man I ever see, 
Was old Bob Skinner, who, I guess, 
Just took the prize for stinginess. 
He gave his boys a cent a head 
One night if they would go to bed 
Without their supper; for, says he, 
"Learn thrift if you would happy be." 

They cried a little, but that cent 
Looked awful big, and so they went. 
Next morning they came down the stairs 
And, after they had family prayers, 
"Come to your breakfasts," Skinner said; 
"They'll cost you all a cent a head. 
Pay as you go, my boys," says he ; 
"Be honest and live thriftily." 

He took them pennies back to buy 
Their breakfasts with, and that is why 
I say that Skinner seems to me 
The meanest man I ever see. 



56 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



THE 'SCURSION 

(Serenade) 

Wake up, mah honey ! 

Don't you heah dem roosters crow? 

Wake up so early in de mo'n ; 

De 'scursion train am ready. 

An' we's all a-gwine to go, 

Though de weeds am a-flirtin' wid de co'n ! 

Chorus : 
So I'll sharpen up mah razor 
An' be ready foh de train ; 
Oh, I'll sharpen up mah razor right away. 
Wid mah black-jack in mah pocket. 
An' mah alligator cane 
Der'll be sumthin' doin' at de beach today ! 

O, Miss Melinda Jackson 
Will parade de walk wid me ; 
She's mah honey an' she's got de propah style ; 
She is lovely an' flirtatious. 
As a lady ought to be; 

She's mah million dollah baby when she smile ! 
Cho. : So I'll sharpen up mah razor, etc. 

Dat little yaller preacher 

Bettah mind his manners well, 

Foh I's just a-gwine to bust him purty soon; 

If he flirts wid mah Melinda, 

Den it's nigger fare-you-well, 

Foh mah razor am an-itchin' foh dat coon ! 

Cho. : So I'll sharpen up mah razor, etc. 

57 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

DOING YOUR BIT 

Let every fellow do his bit, 
And smile while he is doing it. 

It may be leading hopes forlorn ; 
It may be only hoeing corn ; 
Still he is acting like a man 
In doing it the best he can. 

Oh, just find out what duty means, 
In bearing arms or planting beans. 
You may not ever reach the goal. 
But that's the way to save your soul! 

Let every fellow do his bit, 
And know the fun in doing it. 

February, 1918. 







Down Yan and Thereabout 




THE TROOP-TRAIN 

When we come swinging down the street, 

Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! 
When we come swinging down the street, 

Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! 
When we come swinging down the street, 
It's "Eyes to front!" and "Watch your feet!" 
Oh, girls, how can you look so sweet? 
Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! Ta-rummy ! 

Then, good home people, fare-you-well, 
We're off to France to fight a spell 
For good old Uncle Sam-u-el, 
Who gives us board and lodging. 

The troop-train's waiting on the track, 

Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! 
The troop-train's waiting on the track, 

Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! 
The troop-train's waiting on the track, 
So, girls, be true till we get back 
And send along the socks we lack, 
Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! Ta-rummy ! 

We've signed up tight and no regrets, 
The old home guard, the village pets — 
Say, don't forget them cigarettes. 
We'll hold you to your promise. 



59 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



The whistle sounds, the train pulls out, 

Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! 
The whistle sounds, the train pulls out, 

Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! 
The whistle sounds, the train pulls out, 
There, Ma, don't cry, you good old scout ; 
We'll be back soon — or thereabout, 
Ta-rum ! Ta-rum ! Ta-rummy ! 

So good-by folks, and good-by town ; 
The engine snorts, the wheels turn roun'; 
The old flag's up and won't come down ; 
Don't worry. Dad, don't worry ! 












~^^, 



60 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



THE BOND BROTHER 

I've purchased bonds until, by gum, 

I haven't got a cent. 
I told my landlord yesterday 

To whistle for his rent. 
I stepped right up and bought for cash 

When first the drive began; 
And then I v^ent and bought some more 

On the installment plan. 
And now I slink around the streets 

For I am poster shy; 
I dread to meet the smallest Scout 

And look him in the eye. 
I shudder when I pass a booth 

And hear some damsel purr: 
"Oh, Mister, won't you buy a bond?" 

I'm sure to fall for her. 
And when I pick my paper up 

The headlines plainly say 
That John H. Mason urges me 

To "Buy that bond today!" 
I've got to do as I am told 

And so I sign again; 
I've worn the nib entirely off 

Of my old fountain pen. 
I've wrapped it up so lovingly 

And mailed it second class, 
A most delightful souvenir. 

Addressed to Carter Glass. 



61 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



I've purchased bonds at movies. 

And I've bought them on the train; 
I've signed up blanks for little tots 

That stopped me in the rain. 
I've bonds to sell and bonds to keep, 

And bonds to give away — 
At least I've signed a stack of blanks 

That I am bound to pay. 
Oh, when I saunter out of life 

Into the vale beyond, 
I'll hear some Scout rise up and yell : 

"Oh, Mister, buy a bond !" 

May, igig. 




62 



Down Yan and Thereabout 




THE TENANT FARMER 

(Optimist) 

The winter, it came on so severe 
That he hauled up wood for to last a year; 
But he ran clean out ere the new year come, 
So he stood in the snow while he chopped up 

some. 
His old hoss died and his cows went dry, 
And his pumpkins froze he had saved for pie. 
It got so cold that the fruit buds died, 
The frost killed them and the trees beside; 
But he smiled and said: "I am still on top 
With a right good chance for next year's crop." 

His old pump froze till it wan't no use ; 

It split wide open when he pried it loose, 

So he toted water for many a day 

From his nearest neighbor's some distance 

away. 
Then the thieves broke in and stole his corn, 
And that was the night that the twins were 

born ! 
And often he'd say so his wife could hear: 

63 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



"Well, you can't be lucky through all the 

year." 
Then he'd take down his Bible and read a 

verse, 
And smile and say : "It might be worse." 

When spring came on, though he felt his loss. 
He borrowed a plow and he borrowed a boss ; 
He planted some peas that never did sprout, 
So he hitched up the boss and plowed them 

out. 
The corn he planted inclined to rot 
And what came up, that the crows soon got. 
He planted potatoes like other men, 
And the bugs, you bet, had a picnic then. 
Yes, bugs and worms and flies, oh, my ! 
They wriggled and swarmed as he went by. 

His chickens throve till along in June, 

When they disappeared in the dark of the 

moon. 
His watermelons, when they came on, 
All went the way that his hens had gone. 
Disaster made him a shining mark 
And always appeared when the nights were 

dark. 
His wheat had "fly" and then took "smut," 
But he got some straw when the crop was cut. 
And he had good health and he had the soil. 
And he thanked the Lord for a chance to toil. 



64 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

Then he got a letter one day in town : 

His city cousins were coming down 

To spend a month, if they found they could, 

For the air of the country would do them good. 

He wrote right back : "Though the days are 

warm, 
There is lots of shade on the dear old farm. 
And we'll be right happy to have you come." 
(His wife did the cooking and he helped 

some.) 
And he kept up his spirits and seemed content 
When the landlord took all he had for the rent ! 

And how did he live? Why, he didn't, you see. 
As the moss clings close to the forest tree — 
The oak may thrive till its life is gone, 

But the moss doesn't live, it just hangs on! 




Down Yan and Thereabout 



THE KING'S HIGHWAY 

(Laid out under the authority of William Penn, 
to connect the settlements of New Amstel [New 
Ccutle^ and the Hoornkill [Lewes] while the 
Three Lower Counties on the Delaware were still 
a part of Pennsylvania.) 

Riding down to Lewes 

On the King's Highway, 
Skirting creeks and rivulets 

Winding to the Bay, 
Through the sombre forest shades, 

Thickets wild with bloom, 
Where the sweet magnolia 

Revels in perfume; 
Where the thrush and mocking bird 

Carol all the day — 
Riding down to Lewes 

On the King's Highway! 

What a goodly company ! 

See them now appear! 
Sober-visaged Puritan, 

Haughty Cavaher; 
Swede and Finn of sunny hair. 

Patient, plodding Dutch — 
What a goodly company ! 

Saw you ever such? 
Some bedecked in colors bright, 

Some in sober gray. 
Riding down to Lewes 

On the King's Highway! 



66 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

Overhead the fish-hawks scream. 

Homeward bound from sea ; 
From a wigwam far away 

Smoke curls lazily. 
Passing 'neath the forest trees 

Prodigal with song; 
Over marshes where the streams 

Twist their way along. 
Saucy squirrels in the hedge 

Making holiday — 
Riding down to Lewes 

On the King's Highway! 

Making camp at eventide 

Under friendly trees 
That have spread their sturdy arms 

Through the centuries; 
O'er the winding Motherkill 

At the break of dawn, 
Southward to the waters of 

The Mispillion. 
Listening to the bugle note 

Of the whippoorwill 
Calling to his dusky mate 

Just across the hill. 
O'er a stretch of golden sand. 

Over banks of clay — 
Riding down to Lewes 

On the King's Highway! 

67 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



Centuries have intervened 

Since we saw them pass; 
Onward through the deepening shade 

They have gone, alas ! 
Puritan and cavalier, 

Dutch and sturdy Swede, 
Lost within the gloom of years, 

Gone in word and deed ! 
Soon we'll rise and follow them 

Where the shadows play, 
Riding through the gloaming 

On the King's Highway ! 




fii^xi" 




'And 'long in ztnnter evenin's 

I like to stay at home 
Beside the fire and toast my shins, 

And have the neighbors come," 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



IN GOOD OLD SUSSEX 

In good old Sussex County 

Down in little Delaware, 
I often say to Sary Ann, 

I'm glad we're living there. 
The country's kind o' humble, 

Stretchin' onward to the sea; 
It ain't a stylish lookin' place 

And don't pretend to be. 
There ain't a mountain anywhere 

A-holdin' up its head ; 
There ain't no rocks, but only sand 

A-shinin' there instead ; 
But there's alius welcome for you. 

You can feel it in the air 
In good old Sussex County, 

Down in little Delaware. 

The sweetest kind of music 

Is the rustle of the corn. 
And the whippoorwills a-callin' 

In the early of the morn. 
When the bees are in the clover 

Hummin' such a lovely tune 
That it sets a feller sighin' 

For an everlastin' June. 
I like to watch the glowin' sun 

And then the summer rain 
That touches up the dusty grass 

And makes it smile again ; 

71 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



With happiness for every one 

And just a bit to spare, 
In g-ood old Sussex County, 

Down in little Delaware. 

I like to be in Sussex 

In the watermelon time — 
For that's the place to get 'em 

If you want 'em in their prime. 
Some say the finest melon 

Is the good old "Mountain Sweet/* 
And others say "Tom Watson" 

Is rather hard to beat ; 
But the finest watermelon 

Ripens early in the morn, 
All nice and cold and wet with dew — 

You eat it in the corn. 
You take it from a neighbor 

Who has plenty and to spare, 
In good old Sussex County, 

Down in little Delaware. 

I reckon there ain't nothin' 

That a feller could compare 
To the red and juicy peaches 

That you find a-growin' there ; 
Just help yourself, it's all the same 

If you should take a few ; 
The fruits of earth belong to man, 

And that is why they grew. 
They say in good old Sussex 

That, since the air is free 



72 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



And not a cent to pay for it, 
Why, peaches ought to be. 

So help yourself; I reckon 
There's a-plenty and to spare 

In good old Sussex County, 
Down in little Delaware. 

We're modest here in Sussex 
And we've got a simple creed. 

Good honest folks for neighbors 
With a helpin' hand in need; 

A friend to cheer and comfort 
You when troubles intervene — 

Not sayin' much, but standin' by- 
Well, you know what I mean. 

We've preachin' every Sunday 
And the singin' is the best, 

So "not a wave of trouble rolls 
Across our peaceful breast" — 

Good company, enough to eat, 
And quite enough to wear, 

In good old Sussex County, 
Down in little Delaware. 

It's comfortin' to hear 'em talk 

Down to the village store 
Of bosses and of politics 

And why the land is pore — 
Of rabbit dogs and setter pups 

And, social like, you know. 
About your neighbors' business 

And all the debts they owe. 



73 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



Then some one gets to talkin' 

Of the boys that went to war; 
You doze a spell, and then wake up 

And wonder where you are ; 
Then off to home where Sary Ann 

Is dozin' in her chair, 
In good old Sussex County, 

Down in little Delaware. 

I like to see the purple grapes 

A-hangin' from the vines ; 
I like to hear the rabbit dogs 

A-yelpin' in the pines — 
When the shoats are all a-thrivin' 

And the turkeys gettin' fat 
With jowl and sweet potaters 

For your mouth to water at ; 
The boys a-gatherin' hickory nuts, 

The men a-huskin' corn. 
The women gettin' dinner 

With the gals to blow the horn — 
The glory of the autumn 

'Round about us everywhere 
In good old Sussex County, 

Down in little Delaware. 

And 'long in winter evenin's 

I like to stay at home 
Beside the fire and toast my shins. 

And have the neighbors come ; 
And there we'll set and talk for hours 

Of folks we used to know. 



74 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



And mebbe mention some old chum 

That's underneath the snow — 
And have some meller apples then 

With cider just to waste, 
With a leetle drap o' sumpthin' else 

To give the stuff a taste ; 
Then all our troubles melt away 

And vanish in the air 
In good old Sussex County, 

Down in little Delaware. 

I ain't as spry as once I was ; 

I guess I'm gettin' old ; 
The tasks are now for younger men 

And not for me, I'm told. 
My children all have left the farm 

And gone in town to stay, 
They pester me to sell the place 

And then to move away ; 
But here at home with Sary Ann 

I'm happy as I be, 
With all the fields and all the flowers 

A-smilin' back at me ; 
It's good to know that we shall find 

Eternal slumber there, 
In good old Sussex County, 

Down in little Delaware. 



75 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

SUSSEX COUNTY APPLE-JACK 

Sussex County Apple-jack! 
Fill the jug and hurry back ! 
Whether sick or well I be, 
That's the medicine for me. 
In the winter, then it's prime ; 
Cools me off in summer-time ; 
She's a-comin', clear the track — 
Sussex County Apple-jack! 

Sussex County Apple-jack's 
Good for people, white or black; 
Growin' meller in the cask, 
Tastin' good as you could ask ; 
Drawin' flavor from the wood, 
Gettin' most uncommon good ! 
Let us have another smack — 
Sussex County Apple-jack! 

Takes a certain kind of land 
Like our Sussex County sand, 
And our summers, warm and bright, 
For to make them apples right ; 
Then the rest is easy, though 
That's our secret, don't you know? 
Bully for a heart attack — 
Sussex County Apple-jack! 

Here's to sun and here's to breeze, 
Flirtin' with them apple-trees ; 

76 



Down Yan and l^hereahout 

Makin' them old Baldwins blush 
Red and ripe and juicy — hush ! 
Till, when heavy on the stem, 
Red-cheeked lassies gather them — 
Laughin' till their sides they crack — 
Sussex County Apple-jack! 

Makin' cider by and by. 
Taste a little on the sly; 
Sort o' scrunchin' out the juice 
In a way that's most profuse; 
Then you pour it in the still 
And bile it for a spell, until 
Drop by drop she's comin' back, 
Sussex County Apple-jack! 

S'pose a feller was a king, 
Rich and all that sort o' thing. 
Pie for dinner every day. 
Good cigars to throw away, 
Stove-pipe hat and all complete. 
Patent leathers on his feet — 
Happy? Not if he should lack 
Sussex County Apple-jack! 




Doivn Yan and Thereabout 



"DOWN YAN" 

(He said he lived "down yan, beyant Tea Town 
a-piece." ) 

Bill Barlow said he lived "down yan, 

Beyant Tea Town a-piece." 
And may he keep on living there, 

And may his tribe increase; 
And may his life ebb peacefully, 

E'en as his life began, 
Down where the bull-frogs in the swamp 

Their welcome chant, "down yan." 

Some folks have asked me how to find 

Bill Barlow's habitat ; 
But, since he's pointed out the way, 

Suppose we follow that. 
We take the road from Here and Now 

That leads from Anywhere, 
And travel down it for a spell. 

And soon, by gum, we're there ! 

And what a fascinating road, 

That saunters on its way. 
Where old friends meet and talk a spell 

And pass the time o' day. 
Between the fields and through the pines 

It wanders in and out; 
And by and by, twixt dawn and dark. 

We come to Thereabout. 



78 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

We cross the creek, then up the hill, 

Without a guide or plan. 
Along the sun-swept winding road 

That leads away — "down yan." 

On either side are fields, with corn 

That rustles in the breeze; 
And orchards where the peaches blush 

From heavy-laden trees. 
And in a little patch of vines, 

Beyond the pasture gate, 
Are bloated watermelons, ripe 

And waiting for their fate. 

We maybe meet along the road 

Old neighbors tried and true, 
Who nod and smile and pass us with 

A friendly "how-de-do." 
And if we ask about the road 

They smilingly reply: 
"Oh, just keep goin' straight ahead ; 

You'll get there by and by." 

And soon we cross the narrow dam 

That leads to Johnson's mill ; 
The wheels have ground a century, 

And they are grinding still. 
Just down the stream where arching trees 

Their branches interlace, 
We hear a splash — oh, envied youth ! 

They're swimming in the race ! 

79 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

Then round the margin of the pond, 

With docks and liHes spread, 
And up the rise a little way, 

And Tea Town is ahead ! 

Now, Tea Town's not a stylish place, 

And never was, I guess ; 
But people living round about 

Are happy, more or less. 
They do their trading at the store, 

And maybe sit a spell 
Discussing things they mean to buy 

And things they want to sell. 
Yes, Tea Town is a smallish place, 

As towns and cities go ; 
There's just the store and meeting-house — 

But it has room to grow ! 

From Tea Town to our journey's end 

Is but a little way; 
The road is Inclination, 

And the trip's a holiday. 
We ask the way to Barlow's house. 

And all inquiries cease 
When some good soul speaks up and says : 

"Down yan a little piece." 
So o'er the bridge and through the pines 

And just around the bend 
A farm-house seems to block the way — 

The road has reached its end ! 

80 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



And there is Bill, who greets us with : 

"I knew that you would come; 
So 'light and put your hosses up. 

And make yourselves to home. 
For supper's on the table now ; 

Ma's fixin' a surprise ; 
It's young fried chicken, apple sauce. 

And huckleberry pies." 



You'll find Bill Barlow down the road 

"Beyant Tea Town a-piece;" 
And may he live contented there. 

And may his tribe increase; 
And may his life end tranquilly. 

E'en as his life began — 
Down where the road comes to an end, 

Amid the pines — "down yan." 




Down Yan and l^hereabout 




BEAUTIFUL KENT 

How sweet are thy meadows, 

O beautiful Kent ! 
Where Nature is smiling 

And man is content. 
The wheat-fields that billow 

And break like the sea, 
The note of the mocking-bird 

Calling to me ; 
The drone of the bees 

And the wealth of perfume 
That floats where the hedges 

Run riot with bloom ; 
The old-fashioned gardens 

That roses adorn ; 
The darkies all singing 

At work in the corn — 
These, these are the blessings 

That heaven hath sent 
Thy sons and thy daughters, 

O beautiful Kent ! 

How pleasant to ramble 

When early at morn 
The dew is a-glisten 

On blossom and thorn; 
To traverse the path 

At the close of the day 
And pluck the wild roses 

That grow by the way ! 
The blossoms that whiten 

The orchards in spring, 

82 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



The plowmen afield 

And the birds on the wing; 
The long lines of fences 

That shimmer between 
The clover fields gaudy 

In crimson and green — 
All, all are proclaiming 

That Nature hath meant 
Her sons should be happy 

In beautiful Kent. 



When daylight is fading 

And out in the west 
The sun in his splendor 

Goes proudly to rest, 
Then homeward to wander 

All certain to share 
The greeting of loved ones 

Awaiting us there — 
From hearts overflowing 

Whose memories keep 
The loved ones that wake 

And the loved ones that sleep. 
There strife cannot enter 

And murmurings cease; 
For Trust doth abide 

In the dwelling of Peace. 
And when the last moments 

Of life have been spent 
We'll sleep in thy bosom 

O beautiful Kent! 



83 




Down Yan and Thereabout 

OUR DELAWARE 

(A Song) 

Oh, the hills of dear New Castle, 

And the smiling vales between. 
When the corn is all in tassel, 

And the meadow lands are green ; 
Where the cattle crop the clover 

And its breath is in the air, 
While the sun is shining over 

Our beloved Delaware. 

Oh, our Delaware, 
Our beloved Delaware ; 
Oh, the sun is shining over 
Our beloved Delaware! 

Where the wheat-fields break and billow 

In the peaceful land of Kent; 
Where the toiler seeks his pillow 

With the blessings of content ; 
Where the bloom that tints the peaches 

Cheeks of merry maidens share. 
And the woodland chorus preaches 

A rejoicing Delaware. 

Oh, our Delaware, 

Our beloved Delaware ; 

All the woodland chorus preaches 

A rejoicing Delaware! 



84 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

Dear old Sussex, visions linger 

Of the holly and the pine. 
Of Henlopen's jeweled finger 

Flashing out across the brine! 
Of the gardens and the hedges 

And the welcome waiting there 
For the loyal son that pledges 

Faith to good old Delaware. 

Oh, our Delaware, 
Our beloved Delaware ; 
Every loyal son still pledges 
Faith to good old Delaware ! 








85 



Down Yan and Thereabout 



EASTER 

The angel smiled, and leafless trees 
Threw out their banners to the breeze ; 
The hills grew bright ; the vales between 
Put on their robes of living green ; 
The feathered choirs all chanted praise 
And joined in vibrant roundelays, 
While sleeping lilies heard the call 
And peeped along the garden wall. 
The earth revived, no longer dead — 
"There is no death," the angel said. 

A Man was carried to the tomb. 
The door was shut, the little room 
Was made secure, and all men said : 
"He'll preach no more, the man is dead." 
The days pass by, the third, and see ! 
The stone rolls back ! The Man is free! 
And startled voices raise the cry: 
"Who is this Man who will not die?" 
A figure stands with lifted head — 
"There is no death," the angel said. 

This is the story, strange and old, 

This is the tale our fathers told ; 

And those who joy and those who grieve 

Yet kneel and murmur, "I believe !" 

Oh, mystery of mysteries ! 

Oh, learned priest on bended knees, 

8^ 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

Oh, sage and poet, prophet, seer, 
Earth's most profound philosopher — 
Your messages are vain, for, oh ! 
Men but beHeve who fain would know. 

They stand with strained and anxious eyes 
And hurl their questions at the skies. 
They grope and stretch their hands in vain ; 
Have ye no word to make it plain? 

Ye answer not; but faint and sweet 
We hear the angel's voice repeat : 
"Man is but grass, a flame, a breath ; 
Be yet content; there is no death!" 




87 



Doivn Yan and Thereabout 

PROOF POSITIVE 

Some things are true ; wc know they are 

For facts and faith agree ; 
And other things are true because — 

Because they ought to be. 

Some folks declare that Mother Goose 

And Captain Kidd are lies ; 
But children list to these old tales 

And argue otherwise. 

I've heard some foolish people say 

That fairy tales ain't so ; 
But I've met folks who've seen them, 

And I guess they ought to know. 

I've even heard that Santa Claus 

Is just a pleasant myth 
For grown-up folks at Christmas time 

To fool the children with. 

But this old, fascinating tale 

Is very real to me. 
And I have got the best of proof — 

Because it ought to be! 



88 




"My candle's out; the fire is low; 
The night creeps onward; let it go!' 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

CHRISTMAS EVE 

These stockings, hanging in a row, 
Swing heel to heel and toe to toe, 
Their mouths agape — a hungry brood, 
Like birdlings clamoring for food. 
I scan the line in anxious quest 
And find your stocking with the rest. 
I count my store of treasures through 
And here's the list I've got for you. 

There's Friendship, under hand and seal, 

I stuff it down into the heel ; 

It always works, requires no care, 

Is strong and warranted to wear. 

Far down the toe, within a crease, 

I slip a slice of Christmas Peace. 

No choicer morsel can there be, 

So give the world the recipe ! 

And now my eager fingers grope 

And thrust down deep a chunk of Hope, 

That day by day will help to build 

Your fairest castles — Hope fulfilled. 

And since the top is empty still 

I'll fill it full of men's Good-Will, 

Until it swells and overflows ; 

And that's the limit, goodness knows ! 



My candle's out ; the fire is low ; 
The night creeps onward; let it go! 



91 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

Then music faint — a brush of wing-s — 
Hushed foot-falls now and whisperings — 
A glimpse of faces through the mist 
No longer sad, but Heaven-kissed — 
And so I've dreamed the whole night 

through. 
Hey! Merry Christmas! Meaning you! 

December, 1918. 




92 



Down Yan and Thereabout 

POSTLUDE 

Some idle thoughts as idly writ ; 
Some fragments gathered bit by bit; 
Traditions dim, with cobwebs spun, 
And handed down from sire to son. 
The dust of years has left its trace 
On many a nook and hiding-place — 
On crumbling parchment, brown with age, 
And quaint old letters, page on page ; 
On deeds conveying house and lands, 
That turn to ashes in our hands. 

Some bits and scraps of days of old, 
Some stories that our fathers lold; 
And fancies woven into rhyme 
That hinf of ease and summer-time. 
These are the themes of which I sing; 
These are the treasures which I bring; 
And merely crave a little space 
To show them in the market-place — 
These trifles gathered near and far; 
My pack is open ! Here they are ! 



93 



